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During my second and third years at University, I realised how meaningless the labels "gay", "straight" and "bisexual" are. Until then I'd always regarded myself as firmly belonging to the almost overwhelmingly large group of males who regard themselves as unquestionably straight, and who are perhaps a little smug at finding themselves in such a uncomplicated state. But during those couple of years, a few things happened to me which at first made me doubt that assumption and eventually dismiss the whole idea of categorising a person on the grounds of what they consider attractive as utterly absurd.

Beauty, and a person's response to it, is so malleable and so fluid that to say that I find, for example, red roses beautiful today and will therefore always find them so is simply ridiculous. I have an inquisitive mind, my tastes change and my attention moves to other things; sometimes, in certain moods, maybe pink roses will be more my thing.

One particular incident had a big impact on me and I think eventually led to me coming out of the closet, at least to myself, as being "not heterosexual". I eased myself out of one group and found that I had no immediate urge to mentally place myself among another: I just accepted myself as being "me", whatever that happened to be at any particular moment.

It was late in the Autumn and I'd just started dating a girl who would, even during this time of change and evolution, become very special to me. She was called Katherine, though she preferred her name to be shortened to Kaz, and she lived a few blocks away from me in the University accommodation at Southampton.

We were only a few weeks into our relationship: riding on the crest of a wave of screwing as often as we could and just beginning to fall in love with each other.

Much to our mutual irritation, she'd arranged, before we'd started getting serious, that her parents would come down for the weekend to visit her. Our courses, particularly mine, gave us so little free time, that weekends were precious; so having to share one with her folks was not entirely welcome.

Having said that, they turned out to be nice people and it wasn't exactly a chore to meet them. They also seemed to adore me - blatantly and unashamedly regarding me as the perfect potential husband for their daughter - and so spending time with them was quite enjoyable. They laughed at even the lamest jokes I made, found my stories about Norway unfeasibly fascinating, bought me lots of drinks and even invited me up to Keighley, with Kaz of course, to join them for a family Christmas. I lapped it up.

The problem with them, just because it happened to interfere with my sex life, was their devout Catholicism. Kaz and I had got into the routine of staying together most nights but that turned out to be virtually impossible with her parents sleeping on inflatable mattresses in her kitchen. I don't think they quite believed that Kaz was still the blushing virgin, but they almost certainly deemed that we wouldn't have yet done the wicked deed so early in our relationship.

I remember saying, "I'll just say goodnight when you do and we'll turn in together. If we're totally cool about me staying over with you, what else can they do but just accept it."

Kaz didn't like it. "No. It'll upset them, Seb. They won't say anything, but they'll be hurt."

"If I'm going to come up at Christmas, they'll have to grin and bear it then..."

"No, you'll be sharing with Michael. My brother."

"Oh."

We went quiet for a while.

Then I suggested, "Look, why don't I make as if I'm going back to my room, yawning and saying I'm looking forward to a nice book before bedtime, and then sneak back in when they've gone to sleep."

She considered the idea. I could see she wanted me in bed with her as much as I wanted to be next to her.

After a few minutes, she said, "I've a better idea. Why don't you climb up on the roof outside and get in through my bedroom window."

"This isn't fucking 'Romeo and Juliet'."

She grinned and then crooned, emphasizing her Yorkshire accent, "Aw, Seb. It'd be so romantic, like!"

I laughed and then put on a camp voice. "You know what I'm like with heights, though. I'd have one of my funny turns."

She smiled but then became more serious. "No, really. I'm not joking. If you sneak in through the door and they catch you they'd be really pissed off. They'd see it as complete disrespect of their religion. You've got to come in through the window. Seriously."

"What if they hear me?"

She shook her head. "They won't realise there's a roof outside my window. And once you're in, well we'll just have to keep things pretty... ah... quiet..."

I smiled. "All right..."

And so that's how ended up sitting on the flat roof outside of Kaz's bedroom window at two o'clock in the morning one Saturday night in mid-November. Shivering and cursing her for accepting one last drink from them in the kitchen after I'd supposedly turned in for bed.

I could hear them talking and became more and more irritated that their conversation seemed to be showing no signs of abating. The curtain kept flapping through the open kitchen window, sucked outwards and then blown inwards by the cold wind.

I wandered along the roof of the building - the top of the laundrette which adjoined the residence - from the wall which I'd climbed up to the one at the opposite end, past the darkened windows of a multitude of students' rooms and shared kitchens. Then I walked back again. Pacing up and down along the length of the roof, listening to the chat from Kaz's kitchen every time I walked near it.

"Just say goodnight and go to fucking bed," I was thinking. Surely she'd noticed I hadn't brought my jacket and was hardly dressed for standing outside like this? The thought of climbing down the wall and going back to my own, warm and cosy, room kept occurring to me but I kept dismissing it. She'd say goodnight soon. She had to.

Then, as I was walking along the length of the roof, trying to keep warm, I heard a voice I recognised coming from inside one of the rooms as I passed it.

It was guy's voice; a deep voice. He was asking, "Do you want a coffee, then?"

I wondered how I knew him.

I'd have kept walking past, ignoring it, if the person he was talking to hadn't replied, "I'd prefer your cock."

I stopped. Primarily because the second voice was also that of a male.

I went back to the window and looked in through the gap in the curtains.

I could see the first guy, looking down at the second guy who was sitting on his bed. Both of them were grinning.

The first guy was tall and had short black hair. His face was masculine and handsome, with a short growth of stubble on his cheeks and chin. I realised that I vaguely knew him from one of the veterinary modules I'd taken in my first year. He played football on the University team and had a really hot girlfriend with tits like melons. She was called Katie. What the hell was he called?

He kept grinning and said, "I could throw in a Snickers..." His voice betrayed the fact he was feeling very slightly uncomfortable.

The second guy reached up to the first guy's groin and fondled around the front of his jeans. He said, "I didn't come up for coffee and biscuits... and neither did you by the feel of things down here..."

The first guy grinned more broadly. After a couple of seconds of silence in which the other guy started making masturbatory movements against his crotch, he said, "Jesus - you don't mess about, do you!"

I assumed that this must be a joke between them; that they were, perhaps, mates from school or something. Guys who hadn't met up in a while but were used to pissing around together.

But, even though they were grinning, their manner seemed too serious for them to be that: it was jovial but with a distinctly awkward undertone: like this was the genuine flirting of two people who had just met.

Then I remembered his name: it was Rod.

What the hell was he doing pissing around with another guy when he had a girlfriend who guys would queue up to fight for? Jesus, what I'd have given for a date with her if she and Rod parted...

The second guy stood up and embraced him. At first they just hugged, and I noticed Rod seemed uncertain about what to do with his hands. Then, after a few seconds, the second guy moved his face in front of Rod's and gently kissed his lips. It wasn't exactly intense mouth-to-mouth, but there was a lot more to it than just a quick peck.

This definitely wasn't two guys messing about.

Rod pulled away and laughed nervously. He said, "Sorry, mate... I just..."

The other guy said, "This isn't, like, your first time with a guy...?"

"No, no. It's just... you know... still a bit new..."

The second guy moved towards him again and ran his fingers through Rod's hair.

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